"wanting peace is like___(blank)___for viginity"

[LegalTender]

i found this written on my desk in sociology class. do you have any idea what it means?

[jesuisbryony]

Isn't it "fighting for peace" or something?

[MunchyBrain]

I've heard 'Bombing for peace is like fucking for virginity'...

[PregnantForTheLastTime]

Yes, and a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle. No, Bono did not write that.

[bysshe]

Yes, and a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle. No, Bono did not write that.

It's Bukowski, bitches.

How are you, Pregs?

[PregnantForTheLastTime]

It's Bukowski, bitches.

How are you, Pregs?

Not too bad, considering. Thanks for asking!

[SNS22]

Yes, and a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle. No, Bono did not write that.

If they were, they'd be the worst lyrics he's ever written.

[PregnantForTheLastTime]

If they were, they'd be the worst lyrics he's ever written.

No, that honor goes to his unforgettable, "Like a mole, digging in a hole" from Elevation. I gaped when I heard that, I swear to you. That's when I knew I was getting old, when bands I used to like were so clearly washed up.

[SNS22]

No, that honor goes to his unforgettable, "Like a mole, digging in a hole" from Elevation. I gaped when I heard that, I swear to you. That's when I knew I was getting old, when bands I used to like were so clearly washed up.

I was going to cite something from one of the recent albums, but didn't want to offend anyone who still likes U2.

Personally I'd rather listen to Boy than any of the last 3 albums. I'm hoping U2 will have follow REM's lead and realize they've been mostly crap for the last 10-15 years and get back to basics and release a phenomenal new CD.

[yesitis]

It's Bukowski, bitches.

bukowski didn't coin that phrase.

[bored]

Yes, and a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle. No, Bono did not write that.

Someone countered back with, "A man needs a woman like a bicycle needs a fish."

[PregnantForTheLastTime]

Someone countered back with, "A man needs a woman like a bicycle needs a fish."

And it's equally true.

[Oh my god, it's Robby!]

bukowski didn't coin that phrase.

i met Bukowski some months before he died, i had just happened to be tagging along with some people who ran a little literary magazine
he was very physically frail and you could see he was dying, but he eyes were still totally fierce! and i could see he was annoyed not so much with the fawning of some of 'his fans' who he did not hesitate to insult
but that most of the people were all sad & acting like he was already dead or something
then by the time he was done talking about his new book and answering stupid questions
well i was getting pretty drunk, id brought a flask with me filled with jim beam and i had shot gunned a Cisco* on the way in
so i raised my hand and asked him a question:

"Does it really annoy you that some people here are acting like you are dead already?"

there was dead silence in the room, he did not laugh, he just smiled
the people i was with we were aghast, some lady was giving me the evil eye
the thing kind of broke up at point, he moved away from the podium
i made way to the bathroom
then when i came out he shambled a few steps towards, ignoring my friend who wanted to interview him, then he said something to me about what did bother him was people were always hiding booze from him or taking it away!
so I pulled out my flask offered him some, he took it graciously, took a big swig, then i took one, then he did & we finished it, i smoked a clove i think
and for some reason we talked about Melville's story "Bartleby, the Scrivener"
all the while i could see my friend J. was still waiting to talk to Hank, so i said i hoped to hear him give a reading someday, he said maybe(even though he had not given one in 14 years) and then i made my way out to the bus stop...


*=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Low-end_fortified_wine

ps: i am always proud that i kept myself from reciting back some of my fave prose of his like:

It was true that I didn't have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?

[Dave]

nice story.

[Zelda Zonk]

i met Bukowski some months before he died, i had just happened to be tagging along with some people who ran a little literary magazine
he was very physically frail and you could see he was dying, but he eyes were still totally fierce! and i could see he was annoyed not so much with the fawning of some of 'his fans' who he did not hesitate to insult
but that most of the people were all sad & acting like he was already dead or something
then by the time he was done talking about his new book and answering stupid questions
well i was getting pretty drunk, id brought a flask with me filled with jim beam and i had shot gunned a Cisco* on the way in
so i raised my hand and asked him a question:

"Does it really annoy you that some people here are acting like you are dead already?"

there was dead silence in the room, he did not laugh, he just smiled
the people i was with we were aghast, some lady was giving me the evil eye
the thing kind of broke up at point, he moved away from the podium
i made way to the bathroom
then when i came out he shambled a few steps towards, ignoring my friend who wanted to interview him, then he said something to me about what did bother him was people were always hiding booze from him or taking it away!
so I pulled out my flask offered him some, he took it graciously, took a big swig, then i took one, then he did & we finished it, i smoked a clove i think
and for some reason we talked about Melville's story "Bartleby, the Scrivener"
all the while i could see my friend J. was still waiting to talk to Hank, so i said i hoped to hear him give a reading someday, he said maybe(even though he had not given one in 14 years) and then i made my way out to the bus stop...


*=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Low-end_fortified_wine

ps: i am always proud that i kept myself from reciting back some of my fave prose of his like:

It was true that I didn't have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?

haha, awesome.

[virtually dead]

I just found this and it reminded me of this thread so...

[Oh my god, it's Robby!]

haha, awesome.

yep, it was

[down_in_albion]

i met Bukowski some months before he died, i had just happened to be tagging along with some people who ran a little literary magazine
he was very physically frail and you could see he was dying, but he eyes were still totally fierce! and i could see he was annoyed not so much with the fawning of some of 'his fans' who he did not hesitate to insult
but that most of the people were all sad & acting like he was already dead or something
then by the time he was done talking about his new book and answering stupid questions
well i was getting pretty drunk, id brought a flask with me filled with jim beam and i had shot gunned a Cisco* on the way in
so i raised my hand and asked him a question:

"Does it really annoy you that some people here are acting like you are dead already?"

there was dead silence in the room, he did not laugh, he just smiled
the people i was with we were aghast, some lady was giving me the evil eye
the thing kind of broke up at point, he moved away from the podium
i made way to the bathroom
then when i came out he shambled a few steps towards, ignoring my friend who wanted to interview him, then he said something to me about what did bother him was people were always hiding booze from him or taking it away!
so I pulled out my flask offered him some, he took it graciously, took a big swig, then i took one, then he did & we finished it, i smoked a clove i think
and for some reason we talked about Melville's story "Bartleby, the Scrivener"
all the while i could see my friend J. was still waiting to talk to Hank, so i said i hoped to hear him give a reading someday, he said maybe(even though he had not given one in 14 years) and then i made my way out to the bus stop...


*=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Low-end_fortified_wine

ps: i am always proud that i kept myself from reciting back some of my fave prose of his like:

It was true that I didn't have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?

Cool story Robby. I'd love to have met Chuck, a true iconoclast.